His head is sunk

sunk above the neck in the darkness

His thoughts have lost their way

His love that once burnt furiously

has turned to ash, grey

His heart throbs still

but there is no air, only vacuum

that his nose inhales,

As blood-drenched bubbles rise up

and pop painting his darkness red

and now red is dark and dark is red

He resisted his best though

the poison has been fed,

leaving him to live beneath his neck

and all reason, all love, all feelings are dead

They are dead as they were never even there.



Tree and the Pond

A dying tree sat agitated with it’s last leaves,
under the dome-like sky adorned with the glimmer of stars
As that of a crown on the head of those queens,
and beneath the sky and beside the tree, there meditated a pond,
Though failed to stay so for long,
When a leaf dry and weary
Fell in its lap, disrupting the calm,
The pond stared up at the dying tree
Its back bent and head bowed
as that of a lowly subject at a mighty king’s court
‘Is there anything wrong my dear?’ asked the pond
‘The land is all dry and my roots cannot extend’
‘Slow and agonizing death is now my fate’ the tree replied,
‘Unfortunate it is for you to know
that such is thy fate’ said the pond
‘But it’s the only truth, it’s about when you accept.’


One of the those men

Where do those angels go?
Those unfaithful merchants of fate;
Those who dig their own immortal graves,
Those reckless winners; children of human race that nature so adored
Those who did not learn to live
And could never die,
Do you ever look for them?
Don’t you ever miss them?
Those men who could never be tamed
Men whom life betrayed,
Thise men who could sing without tunes
Who treated curses as boons,
Those men who understood the world but with themselves were confused,
Those men who lost the battle with life
But won over death,
Those men who were in number few,
Men who died for themselves,
But as long as they lived,
They did so for you.
Don’t you ever look for them?
Don’t you ever miss them?
Don’t you ever want to be one of those men?

Poster on the Shack

I was driving down the country road one day

When I saw celluloid poster high,

high up on the roof of an old and broken shack;

The man in the picture was all painted white

and the girl was spit on the black.

I stopped my car and stepped out of it

At the entrance door there stood a young lady

Or that she was young once, but not now

Now she old and her face was scarred and wrinkled

and the skin was loose

Yes I saw it all, when I stepped close.

While I realised of her elderness

Her centurion and tired eyes had gazed my years

And somehow I thought she knew

That I was on the run from a prison.

On entering the shack,

charred and bored, and smelled of smoke,

and I asked for a martini dry

He set me up with my drink

Whilst the eyes around stared at me,

Suspicious of the strange ambience

I decided to flee.

But not just now, not just now

I must first finish my drink, suck the martini dry

and finish it I did and moved out

But I did not know, if there was anyone

Who noticed my move sly.

Out when I came, there was none I could see

The old lady was gone,

I walked up slow to my ride

looking round and about

But before I could get in to drive

A siren caught my eyes.

A police car skidded past me from nowhere

Bullets grazed the air by me ear

Before I could respond with my colt,

A bullet passed through my heart clear,

And there I dropped on the ground

and saw the celluloid poster high

high on the tattered shack,

I saw the world white and blue

And then everything faded to black.









Child & the Ghost


Who are those people dressed in black?

I have seen some of them in my neighbour’s shack.



Wake up! You child. Snap out of your dream

Un-shut your eyes and pay attention

Can you not hear the requiem?



The Requiem?

What on this globe is that?



Its a tune of sorrow

A song to send off the dead

The bodies with no tomorrow.



And what is that box of wood that I see?

Why is the earth there dug?



Coffin; it is called, carrier for those who die,

And the dug earth is where they shall lie.



Why do those people cry?

Where do we go, when we die?



Not far my dear!

Just somewhere between the sea and the sky

See for yourself, you are already here.



The Return

You lived your life

fought all, and everyone you could

Did everything you should;


Now rest your tired bones

empty your heavy soul,

And lay down your weapons

It is time to march home.


I know you have come a long way

miles and years from home,

And a million montages of past

with people, and alone.


But now you have tread enough

And there is no road, for you to follow any more,

Set the oars down

you have reached the final shore.


Disregard all the reveries

don’t conjure the ghosts,

Let your demons rest in peace

let your exhausted self, return back home.


Don’t let affection for life

precipitate in your eyes,

A gift it was you cherished

and now death complies.